(or, Five Things About Me That Say Nothing About Me)
Last year opened and closed, it seemed, without ceremony.
November was also a place.
I walk my fingers back and forth over my thigh like a child playing marching soldiers.
Thank you for your letter postmarked October 29.
Forgive the impertinence of this letter, but I’ve been told that you like receiving one of these every now and then.
There are wells that are inexhaustible.
Some days are circles, of all things, without edges, and easily deflected.
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Hypothesis and Dream